


A Good Job

by propheticfire



Series: Scenes From Fics I Will Never Write [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fitting In, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, maybe vaguely hurt/comfort, shinies to troopers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propheticfire/pseuds/propheticfire
Summary: Tup finds Dogma alone and upset. He offers some support.





	A Good Job

The rec room was deserted. That’s why Tup knew Dogma would be here.

He sat in a low chair, staring out the viewport at the blue streaks of hyperspace beyond. In the darkened room, the flickering color cast his face in ghostly shadows, like a holo projector with a bad connection. His expression was far away.

Tup shuffled forward. “Dogma,” he called softly. He watched Dogma tense and turn toward him. When Dogma recognized him, though, he relaxed back into the chair.

“Hey,” Dogma said.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Tup ambled closer, sank into the chair beside Dogma. The corner of Dogma’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t respond other than to give a noncommittal grunt. He kept his eyes downcast, focusing on the knee plates of Tup’s armor.

“I know you like your space sometimes,” Tup continued. “I know the other guys got to you earlier. But they’re just… That’s just how it is, you know? You just gotta go along, and eventually you’ll settle in.”

The corner of Dogma’s mouth twitched again, but he remained silent.

Tup shifted in his chair, facing Dogma a little more, leaning a little closer. “I can leave if you want, that’s okay. But if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

There was a long pause. Dogma didn’t move. His expression seemed even further away than before, and Tup wasn’t sure if he should stay or just pack up and scurry out. The muscles of his legs tensed with anticipation.

Finally, Dogma sighed and stared out the viewport once more. “I’m trying,” he said. His voice was thick, as though coming from that distant place where his eyes had been. “I’m trying to fit in. But it feels like everything I do is wrong. I _know_ it isn’t. I’m following every reg. But it seems like there’s this unspoken rule that you _shouldn’t_ follow the regs. At least, not all of them. And I don’t know which ones fall into which category. And what if I’m wrong? What if I pick one, and I should have followed it but I didn’t, and it gets people in trouble or puts people in danger? If they’d just _tell me_ what the rules are, I could do it, but apparently you’re supposed to figure that out for yourself!”

Dogma’s hands curled into fists. Tup could see the tension in the set of his jaw. He watched as Dogma sharply sucked in a breath, then slowly let it out in a controlled exhale. Tup had never found it difficult to slide in with the others, to let them lead and follow their example. It helped him find his place. It just felt right. But Dogma… Dogma hadn’t voiced his thoughts like this since before they graduated. Tup had chalked it up to Dogma growing more introverted, more interested in observing. But suddenly it seemed as though a shell had cracked, and Tup was catching a glimpse of some storm whirling inside. It was painful, and a little frightening, and he chided himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Hey,” Tup said softly. He reached over and rested a hand on Dogma’s shoulder. “Hey. It’s okay. You know the whole reg manual backward and forward. You earned your 501st blues. You got into Torrent Company. Captain Rex trusts you to have his back in combat.” He squeezed Dogma’s shoulder lightly.

“You’re doing a good job.”


End file.
